In The Blood
by Sutaru-shitsuteru
Summary: Since the age of ten, Johanna Amanda Riddle has been promised to Draco Malfoy. But things change, so quickly, that life is but a whirlwind, and soon enough, who we are hates who've been.
1. Joey's POV

In The Blood: Ever the Riddle

Part One: Joey's POV

My name is Johanna Amanda Riddle, and I am Voldemort's daughter.

I live in the Riddle House, alone, with the exception of my dead mother's ashes, Amanda Knight. She made the foolish mistake of going up against my father's Death Eaters when I was the age of eight, and she was incinerated instantly.

But, that is only one of the reasons I despise Tom Marvolo Riddle. _Another reason?_ You ask?

Ever since he came back when I was fourteen, I've been engaged to marry goddamn Draco Malfoy. And I'm on my way to the Malfoy Manor for dinner now.

Okay, the children will have good genes. Draco's actually_ very_ hot. But I still hate him.

Lucius Malfoy greeted me at the door beside his wife, Narcissa. Draco, who stood a ways behind, was the living embodiment of his father. His posture reassured my suspicions that he was a pompous pureblood who thought himself a prince.

"Hello, Lucius. Narcissa," I said coldly, nodding my head to the couple.

"A beautiful girl!" said Narcissa, embracing me. "A perfect match for our little Draco!"

Draco raised an eyebrow as he observed me, and the thought of him touching me made me want to puke. His hands were staying to himself that night.

"Remind us how old are you?" Lucius asked as he led us to the Dining Room of the Malfoy Manor.

My age was the same as Draco's, I was sure he knew this, but I answered anyways.

"Seventeen, as of next week."

"Then consider this an early gift," Draco announced, and presented me with a velvet box.

No doubt it contained a priceless, dazzling piece of jewelry, but I was disgusted with the way they presented themselves. Servants were kicked out at as we walked, they lavished themselves in silk, velvet and chenille, and their voices held so much self confidence that it almost choked me.

I remembered that, being Voldemort's daughter, I was supposed to act the same.

Biting the inside of my cheek, I leant in to kiss Draco on the cheek, but he turned quickly so our lips met. Lucius and Narcissa looked on, thinking us a happy couple, and my left eye twitched.

Inside the velvet box sat a collar of black silk, on it a rose made entirely of rubies, with leaves of emerald and jade plated on white gold on the center of the choker.

I pulled up my auburn curls as Draco took the piece from me and hooked it around my neck. His fingertips lingered over my throat a little longer than I would have liked, but I quickly jerked away to sit down.

Right about then I was feeling very self conscious about the tight jeans and low cut, lacy spaghetti strapped tank top I wore as the men's eyes lingered on me as I sat down.

"So, do you want children?" Narcissa questioned politely, just as I took a drink of water.

The thought of little Draco-Joeys running around had only crossed my mind _once, _and I had usually used all my brain power on creating ways to _stop_ the marriage.

"Um, not for…a little while," I stuttered, voice breaking in the middle of my sentence, hand upon my heart. Thinking of Draco seeing, not to mention, touching, me naked, mortified me beyond words. A child would only confirm my place as Joey Riddle-Malfoy. I wished no more than my hardest to be home at the Riddle House, alone in my room, but I had resigned to my fate early in life when I was raised by my father's Death-Eaters.

Through out the night I endured questions about my views on married life, more advances from Draco, and horribly made mince meat and shepard's pie.

"Would you like to stay the night?" Narcissa called out, voice echoing, as I high-tailed it for the door. When I had no response, she added, "I insist."

She knew I was returning home to an empty place, and that I had no one to return to, so I had but one answer.

"_Sure._"

Much to my displeasure, I was _not _given my own room, but instead, my existence was piled with Draco Malfoy's.

"Don't touch me," I hissed once I was inside his bedroom.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he smiled mischievously.

Right about then, I wondered if nunneries still existed, and if they'd take an evil born girl such as myself.

Usually I was alone at my home with plenty of room to spread out, but when I returned, two pain staking days later, I found three people sifting through my stuff, rudely throwing my things aside and destroying the order my near-OCD-ness had caused me to create.

"Oi, stop it!" I shouted, wand held at arm's length.

The first person to face me fully was a girl who looked about my age, with puffy, bushy brown hair and a curved physique, a look in her eyes that said she thought herself smarter than everyone else in the room.

The second was none other than bloody rudding Harry Potter, holding onto my old diary. He looked hagrid, green eyes tired, jet black hair stuck up in odd places, glasses slipping down his nose.

The third I could instantly tell was a Weasley, for he stuck out like a sore thumb (Where _did _that expression come from?) with his flaming hair, freckled features, and lanky body, and I was mortified to see my underwear in his clutch.

Harry whipped out his wand, pointed directly at my neck, and I glared at him.

"Who are you?" he demanded, not blinking, trying to stare me down. Good luck he had, for I had been stared down all my life, and had learned to silently retaliate.

With frosty gray eyes I stared back and answered just as coldly as my look, "My name is Joey, and I believe I could have you locked up for under-aged wizardry and breaking and entering."

I had caught him. He lowered his wand, but none of the three let me leave their eye sight.

"Names, and what are you doing in my home?" I asked, snatching my diary and my underwear from the boys.

"Hermione. Got a hint that something we were looking for would be here," the girl said cautiously, taking in the sight of me.

"That still does not give you permission to destroy my things," I hissed, throwing closed my trunk.

"Your last name is Riddle," the Weasley announced slowly, and I suspected he had looked at my diary also, for that was the only place I had ever put my last name.

"Not so proud of it; now I suggest you remove yourself from my home!" I demanded, throwing open the door and pointing out.

I tried to put myself in their warped minds; to see when in history it had been okay to invade private property, but I really couldn't see it. The appearance of the Golden Trio in my life started something that would lead me down a crazy road with things that challenged the reality I had built for myself for an entire seventeen years.


	2. Draco's POV

In The Blood

Part One: Draco's POV

Johanna Riddle was a puzzle in herself, and I had no way of figuring her out.

But, she is very hot, if I do say so myself.

My name is Draco Malfoy, and with the Dark Lord as my witness, she _will _love me.

Since the end of my fourth year when my Lord re-appeared, we had been promised to each other, but we had never really "met" before the dinner at my family's Manor the other night. I had seen her before at Death-Eater meetings, sitting or standing behind Voldemort himself, quiet as a statue, looking as though she had indeed been carved out of stone.

When my father was broken out of Azkaban, the wizard prison, she was the one who delivered him back home, but she left before even my mother, ever the blabber mouth, could speak to her.

Johanna is an oddity, no doubt. For half of the meal the other night she acted disgusted with us, and then the other half she acted perfectly at home, as though she had always been raised in such a pure-blood atmosphere. She had smooth skin, pale as my hair, and a cold distance between herself and, not just me, but everyone in the room. It made me question what had caused her to become that way.

I was vaguely aware that she was one to take control; she talked confidently, and took control of the situation presented to her. I could tell I would like her.

My father, however, is another story.

"She is not a respectable woman," he said aloud at dinner the next day. I rolled my eyes discreetly, and my mother spoke up.

"Darling, she is a beautiful girl, and perfectly worthy of our blessings," she said barely above a whisper.

"She's not even a pure blood, at that! Her mother was an insolent muggle, and that's where she received her audacious attitude!"

"And why should she have to be pure-blood?" I spoke up loudly. I screamed at myself to stop, but, apparently, my mouth just wasn't listening. "She's our Lord's daughter; as good as us!" My mother's blue eyes stare at me in surprise, and I continued.

"Johanna isn't a Pure-blood, but would you really want to face the Dark Lord's wrath if I do not marry her?"

I was the first person since ruddy Potter to leave my father speechless, and knew I would pay for it later. Something about my father's disapproval made me want the Riddle even more.

The Dark Lord calls his Death-Eaters by touching one mark, and pain alerts us to his needs.

A few hours later those events had fallen in place, and we were called to the Riddle House, when it was almost midnight. Some members were already in their bed clothes, yet others stood in towels and robes, and more still stood fully dressed.

Inside the ring we created, Voldemort stood in the middle, Johanna


End file.
